


With Shortness of Breath

by lizthefangirl



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bellarke, Canon Compliant, F/M, The Princess and the Knight, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 21:05:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14860286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizthefangirl/pseuds/lizthefangirl
Summary: Post 5.06. With Madi in Octavia's care, and Echo defected, Clarke tells Bellamy two new stories.





	With Shortness of Breath

**Author's Note:**

> I had to write this down. I'm honestly so happy with this season so far! Comments are so welcome. Title is from "Saturn" by Sleeping at Last.

 

_With shortness of breath_

_You explained the infinite_

 

* * *

 

 

"She knew about Octavia—it's why she went to her."

Clarke glanced to where Bellamy reclined in the dim space, the quiet desperation in his tone mirroring hers. Almost.

Both of them were currently without someone they loved. Someone they needed. They had been that one another, once. Or he had been to her, in those final weeks.

 _If I'm on that list_ —

"You told Madi about her." Not quite a question. Still a bit too raspy, as if begging for the silence to be broken.

They dwelled in her and Madi's old tent, because the latter was essentially stationed in the bunker now, constantly supervised by Octavia's cronies. And because his and Echo's tent. . .

It was a topic they still hadn't verbally breached. She was fine with it—had to be. She was no less eager to discuss those six years of almost-solitude, keeping her response vague. "I told her stories."

". . . Only about my sister?"

"About a lot of things," she replied, somewhat tightly. 

He sensed her reservation, falling silent. She worked her jaw, abruptly finding the quiet as poisonous as he had. Trying for a gentler tone, she confessed, "They were mostly about the people closest to me, of course—that year on the ground. Octavia was her favorite."

She anticipated a mournful remark about his sister's transformation. Instead, after a beat: "Do I get to know the rest of the rankings?"

Clarke snorted softly, though her face heated. "You were only second because you were _her_ brother."  _And because they were mostly stories about you._

"I'm flattered," he grunted, before yawning hugely.

She couldn't stifle her instinct to do the same. Between them, they'd only managed a few hours of sleep in the past couple days. She hadn't slept at all the first night, when Madi insisted Clarke return to their tent, the request defended by Octavia, a silent threat thrumming beneath the civil words. Clarke knew—she  _knew_ —what Octavia's end game was. That she was feigning every bit of her mentorship; but to acknowledge the farce could be unspeakably dangerous to Madi, who seemed to wholly trust the performance.

Clarke's brow furrowed as she pored over all of this for the umpteenth time, her concentration shattered by Bellamy's husky voice.

"Tell me a story." She almost scoffed again, until he added with exhausted earnestness, "Tell me one I don't know, Clarke." 

She closed her eyes, unsure why they burned. "About what?"

She thought he might have dozed off, but glimpsed his eyebrows narrowed in consideration, his mouth curving into a small smile. "One funny thing that happened to you in six years."

Clarke immediately knew which to tell. "I never told you how I met Madi."

"No, you didn't," he agreed, shifting in the blankets, folding his arms behind his head. Her eyes darted away from the strip of skin at his hips. 

"Well, I didn't meet  _her_ so much as her beartrap."

He stared. Blinked. "Her—"

"Yep."

" _What_?"

"My little bush baby," Clarke sighed, smiling slightly as she remembered the deranged child in the forest. "I drew a picture of her and left it out on the rocks by the river for her to find. She became _slightly_  less aggressive after that. It still took another week to convince her to bathe. . . and another for her tell me her name. But eventually, slowly, she started to help me hunt. She was better at it than I was, that's for sure. Climbed trees like she was born in one. And then I started to teach her some English, bit by bit. She sounds like a native speaker, now—" 

Her lips pressed together as she recognized that she was rambling—quite like the proud mother she was. Ironically, she had only ever gushed about her to Bellamy over the years, frequently. But those were decidedly one-way conversations.

She couldn't bear to look at him, now—like a couple nights before, after he and Echo had parted—and he had met her eyes, seen her watching—

"One more," he said thickly. "And this time. . . Not about here. About anyone here. Just. . . from your head?"

Her heart stuttered, mind so addled with fatigue that she murmured, "Like a fairytale?"

"Yeah, exactly."

She'd authored a fair number of original ones over the years, though they were never completely unrelated to reality—merely spun into fantasy. Madi loved deciphering them, identifying misnomers of characters and places. They ended up being more and more intricate, sometimes changing people's roles to try and fool her—but she always figured it out. 

There was one she had told on a very difficult night. The day of the fifth year—the day of the homecoming that never was. The day they'd assumed someone would've tried to pry open to bunker from inside, maybe for the first time.

She was glad for the cover of darkness. Glad for the drowsiness in her bones as she laid back—always a careful, careful distance—and began to speak, nearly the same words spinning from her tongue. 

"Once upon a time, there was a kingdom in the sky. The King had died, leaving his Queen and their only daughter to a people who rejected them. They lived for many ages in solitude, until one day, the castle simply fell to the lost empire below. Few survived from the Fallen Kingdom—only one-hundred and one."

His silence had taken on a new energy as he listened. His eyes bore into her, and she kept hers shut. Her voice was surprisingly even, like it had been in the original telling. "There was a Knight who had committed a terrible crime, managing to escape. He appealed to the survivors, leading them differently from the kingdom in the sky, for he believed the lost empire to be their own. The Princess was not fond of him, trying to uphold her father's laws. But as new challenges surfaced, the princess and the knight would be forced to ally. . ."

She told the adventures of the Princess and the Knight, one by one, introducing a few supporting characters: The Blacksmith (Raven), the Alchemist (Monty), the Priest (Jaha), the Troll (Murphy). Bellamy listened, awake and intent, for his breath caught at places, chuckles rumbling at others.

Her throat was slightly sore by the time she said, "There was another threat that no one saw coming. An ancient curse that would set the world ablaze. The companions and their Court worked tirelessly to save the people of the empire, putting the survivors in a great metal city beneath the earth. The Court realized they needed to return to the sky find the way to break the curse. The Princess had taken a potion, that she might survive the tendrils of dark fire already spreading across the land—but with the potion came harrowing visions. . ."

Clarke's words grew quieter as she finished the story of Praimfaya. . . and with a deep breath, spoke of the events beyond it. "The Princess was gravely wounded after performing the spell to reopen the gates of the complex in the sky. But the potion had worked. She searched the ruined lands as she healed, and found a black carriage in the wreckage. Inside of the carriage was a magical mirror that had once enabled communication across earth and sky. But it was damaged, and all she saw was a constant swirling cloud in the glass. 

"But because the Princess was alone, and the mirror might not be entirely broken, she began to talk to the Knight each day through it. She told him about many things. She told him she was—" Her breath stuttered. "She was proud of his courage in returning to the sky. She told him about where she was going, about the first rain, the berries she foraged . She told him everything, even when she finally found a young friend. She spoke to him every single day, until the one he was due to return. . . And she continued to, after that day passed—" 

" _Clarke_."

His hand brushed her shoulder, and she flinched away, her face dripping. Head shaking furiously—

"Bellamy!" 

Monty repeated his name as his frantic footsteps sounded outside of the tent, the flap yanked back. He panted—barely hesitating as he surveyed the two of them: Clarke tear-stained and about to rise into a crouch to leave, Bellamy's arm still extended, such emotion on his face. "Bellamy," he tried, quieter. "It's Echo. Something's gone wrong."

 

 


End file.
